


Negotiation

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Frottage, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early!Chill.  Get together stuff & frottage & feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiation

“Pretzels in chili,” Chris says, balancing his elbows on his knees. “Really.”

“It's better if they're stale pretzels, though, because they get all extra chewy when they absorb the liquid,” Will replies, stirring the contents of the pot that's bubbling away on his unreliable stove with one hand and waving at Chris with the other.

His apartment is kind of crap. His stove is definitely crap. But Chris doesn't seem to mind.

“It's kind of like putting in crackers.”

“Is this a Floridian thing?”

Will laughs. “No. It's a my-friends-and-I-were-stoned thing.”

“Scrabble, bingo, or costumes-just-because night?”

“Okay, don't laugh,” Will says, ducking his face, “but it was actually a Glee night.”

“Oh my god,” Chris says, burying his face in his hands. “No comment.”

“You can't judge me. I've confessed my fanboy past.”

“You did,” Chris says, smiling. “I'm just messing with you.” His smile twitches into a smirk. “But also please recall that that conversation ended with you promising me we would talk about Glee approximately never again.”

Will raises a wooden stirring spoon in salute. “I remember.” He grins. “Trust me, we've got much more interesting things to discuss.”

They sit on the floor in front of Will's beat up coffee table, eating chili with only the television to provide background noise. They aren't really watching it. It's set to some random science channel and Will thinks it's a show about big cats, but after it comes back from commercial he sees that it's about dinosaurs. 

“I didn't do that on purpose, I swear,” he says, feeling sensitive about Chris thinking he is just the sum of a few quirky entertainment interests.

“I may have peaked ahead on the guide,” Chris confesses. He chews, swallows, chews, swallows, until he grows visibly distracted and begins shifting meat and beans around in his bowl.

“Jerk.”

“I thought it might relax you.”

“Like a baby with its favorite rattle?”

“Like we should probably talk.” Chris raises his eyebrows almost challengingly.

_Well, dang._

“Boy, that escalated quickly.”

“And you're movie quoting.”

“ _Anchorman_ is a classic.”

“Can a movie that came out in 2004 be a classic, technically?”

Will chews on a mouthful of pretzel-laden chili and frowns. “I think that depends on a variety of factors.”

Chris wipes his mouth on a napkin and then takes a pull off of his Diet Coke can. “Look, I know. It came through the grapevine two days ago. Are you okay?”

He isn't sure if he is okay. He thinks that he might be.

He'd been with Sam for a while and they had had some really great times, but the breakup had been sudden and hostile and all of Will's normal outlets for venting haven't provided the usual relief. It feels more complicated than it is, and he thinks that the reason for that is sitting across from him on his dingy carpet eating doctored canned chili out of solidarity more than hunger.

The thing is, they've been dancing around each other for a long time. The thing is, Chris has done nothing overt but he still has something to do with the way that Will currently feels. The thing is, somehow, someway, Chris has become crucial to his existence, like a block slotted into place in his personal foundation that he'd only noticed when the blocks around it had begun to shift. He'd realized how fundamental that particular block could be, if it were forced to bear weight on its own.

“I'm messed up,” he answers, finally, when he can't scrape the bottom of his bowl any longer. The noise is grating. “But I'm shaking it off.”

They stare at each other for a second, but Chris isn't the jump-into-drama-head-first type, and is quickly engaged in his supper again. At least, this is how Will interprets it.

He feels the distance between them like a hand on his ribcage, compressing his lungs. The only way to breathe properly again is to reconnect, to open his mouth, to shift their bodies closer together. This keeps happening. Every time he stops to think or breathe or act normal, Chris' presence ruffles him, makes him feel as if he should be _doing_ something more than he is.

“I didn't know Sam very well, but I'm sorry that you got hurt,” Chris says, when the silence drags on too long.

“Yeah. I mean, it was his choice to ditch me the way he did.” Will shrugs, abandoning his bowl and inching closer to Chris' side, reaching for the remote so that he can flick through the channels to cover up his nerves.

It's hitting home that they're alone, he's single, and even though he knows that Chris has—or at least _had_ —more than one friends-with-benefits arrangement, Chris isn't _dating_ anyone at the moment, either.

They've talked about their romantic histories enough to know the score. Will is a relationship man through and through, crazy about the concept of soulmates and long term commitment, but coming out in California had provided him with enough sexual adventure to last a lifetime. He isn't a saint. Sam had been his longest relationship. Chris has had one or two boyfriends but mostly hook-ups, because dating had never quite worked out for him, and he's had his heart broken more or less every time that he's allowed someone to touch it. He's understandably hesitant to repeat that process.

But Will has no idea how all of this applies to them.

 _Them_ is something else entirely. _Them_ has already evolved in unexpected ways.

“You were right about the pretzels,” Chris says, looking at him.

They're very close. Will smiles. He can't help it. His face is tingling and he's warm and Chris is so gorgeous and—wow, this is not something that he should be thinking about right now, is it? 

Or maybe he should be. Maybe there's a reason why they're here together tonight and Chris is looking at him like he has words that he wants to vomit up but can't. One of the things that Will has discovered is that Chris is probably the most awkward guy in the world when it comes to conversations like this. He cares and he wants to show it but his words and expressions never manage to reflect what he's really trying to say. He's so articulate in writing, especially abstract fiction, but when it comes to himself...

He'd once described himself to Will as an “awkward bunny”: full of energy and things to contribute but so overwhelmed by the process of expression that all he manages in the end is to hop around and twitch nervously instead. He has no trouble auditioning, singing, acting, and touring, but when it comes to emotional and personal stuff he closes up like a clam.

Will has only been good friends with Chris for a few months—before that it had mostly been idle conversation at get-togethers, seeing each other across the room at parties, and the one time they'd passed each other using the bathroom at a banquet hall that had been hosting a wedding they were attending separately. Once or twice after that they'd ended up invited out by Ashley, just the three of them, and when that trio took off spectacularly, Will had found himself texting and Skyping Chris constantly, mostly to talk about writing and screenplays and the industry and then, slowly but surely, they had sidestepped into personal topics and discovered that they'd had a lot in common.

He thinks about this in the few seconds that it takes Chris to put one arm along the seat of the sofa behind his shoulders.

“Your silence is beginning to freak me out,” Chris says.

Is he willing to risk their friendship on the off-chance that Chris is thinking what he is thinking?

“Shit, I'm sorry,” he says, leaning back into Chris' arm. He laughs. “Um.” He leans into the crook of Chris' arm and side, as if allowing his body to say what his mouth doesn't seem to be able to. “Okay.”

“Am I ambushing you?” Chris asks. His face is beet red. “I really don't want to be that guy.”

Relief runs rampant through Will's chest. “Oh, my god, no.” 

His body vibrates with anticipation. He tilts his head back, presses his cheek to the warm, bare skin of Chris' bicep and lets himself enjoy it in a way that he never has before. Chris smells incredible. Will can't smell anything else, not even the chili on their breath when Chris turns his face toward his and breathes out warm and choppy over his jaw.

That close, with their eyes half-shut, Chris says, “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this.”

“Wait.”

Chris' eyes open fully. “Is that a no?”

Will blinks. “Are you—are you serious? All this time?”

“Since you spilled salsa on yourself the first night I saw you,” Chris says. 

The beet red on his face has bled into a darker shade that Will might find medically fascinating if he could think above the noise of his own heart slamming against his chest.

“Oh my god, you remember that? We didn't even know each other's names.”

“You made a Carrie joke. When that fell flat, you hid in the kitchen with the lights out making monster noises. You scared the shit out of Ash and she threatened your life and you offered her fair dueling terms. I couldn't stop thinking about you after that.” He touches their noses together. “But you had a boyfriend.”

“Chris,” Will breathes, closing his eyes.

This is insane. When he'd invited Chris over for crappy television and budget chili he hadn't expected this. Why isn't he pulling away? He really should, considering that he's only been single for a week.

And then he thinks, _the most amazing that man you've ever met is sitting with his arm around you, telling you that he likes you, and you're thinking about the right thing to do?_

He isn't sure which one of them starts it, but Chris finishes it, sliding his hand around Will's jaw and into his hair when their mouths touch. He makes a noise, though it's barely loud enough to qualify as such, huffs a breath in through his nose and lets Chris' lips slot properly against his.

Arousal, syrupy and sudden, shocks him into turning against Chris' body, into putting his hand on Chris' heaving chest to feel his heart pound through his shirt. When they stop to breathe, their cheeks burning just inches apart, all Will can do is laugh and laugh, shaking his head, and feel the shivers that the kiss had created wrack his body over and over again.

“Oh my god,” he says, licking out across his mouth.

Chris kisses the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The hinge where his jaw and neck meet, which makes him shiver and inhale audibly. The curve of his neck, and then the soft slope of his throat. His hand settles on Will's arm, then touches his chest, feeling over the firm muscles there before sliding down his side to curl around his waist.

His body has gone so hot, so fast that it's like whiplash. He's already getting hard. His head is swimming. Chris is making breathy, high-pitched, eager noises against his skin.

And then he stops.

“I want to get off with you so bad,” Chris says. His mouth is wet and pink and Will can't look away. “I'm—I mean, that part is easy for me. With me. Especially like this. I trust you. You're already a part of my life. And if we fucked, even if we did it more than once, it would be something that no one else would ever have to know about. We could have that and it would be simple.”

Will frowns, because he isn't sure about the nature of that suggestion, and also because he doesn't understand where Chris is going with this. “But?” 

Is sex all that Chris is looking for? That doesn't seem to match the lead-in that he'd so creatively crafted tonight or the vibe that has always sizzled between them.

“My life is a fucking circus,” Chris says, looking nervous. The sex-flush on his face is turning pale and chalky at its edges, showcasing fear as well as it had showcased arousal just moments before.

“A lot of my friends are actors, producers, directors, models...you know that I know how the game is played.”

“Being an intimate part of my life would be different, though,” Chris says, putting his fingers on Will's shoulders. The touch seems to ground them both. “You have a big family. There isn't a thing about you or them that wouldn't eventually be passed around. It's constant, never-ending exposure. And sometimes it can be really disgusting.”

“I'm not Max,” Will says. “You know that I'm nothing like that.”

Chris swallows. “But it happened. It was horrible. He was a raging dick-weasel, but it still happened.”

“Okay,” Will says, reaching up to take Chris' hands in his. He rubs the backs of them, working blood into skin where it's gone cool. “One: I'm out. It took me a while, but I've earned my rainbow stripes. Two: I ain't no kid. Three: You missed the part where you asked me to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh my god, that's not,” Chris says, sputtering, “I mean, I'm not asking you to move in, Jesus, fuck, this is why I don't date friends, I have no idea what the hell I'm even doing—”

Will kisses Chris' hand. “Hey. Hey. Shush. Shut your gorgeous mouth for a second.” Chris does that pout-frown-deflating thing that never fails to make Will melt. “I get it. Every time you get close to a guy you have to do all this negotiation upfront. Right? Decide whether you'll be fucking-fucking or just kind of screwing around, whether you'll want him to sleep over, whether you'll want to do it again, what his intentions are, what your expectations are. I know how careful you need to be.”

“That's what I'm trying to say. It's nuts.”

“And I'm saying that it doesn't have to be. Every experience that you have doesn't have to be like that.”

Chris' eyes actually glaze over at that.

Will's chest tightens. “Oh, honey.”

“I wasn't going to do this tonight,” Chris says. “You and Sam just broke up.”

“We've been circling each other for a long time, though. Haven't we?” 

It may not have been consciously romantic or sexual, but it has definitely been a thing.

“It was more than circling on my end,” Chris says. “I've been—I've been waiting. I tried not to, but I have been, just, just fucking waiting for you to be available. I told myself I wouldn't date again until my life was less crazy, but now I don't think it's ever going to be sane. So I told myself that I'd wait for the right guy, and you—there you were, and you...you could be that guy.”

Will can't adequately articulate what it feels like to be called someone's “right guy”. 

“I don't want to freak you out,” Chris says, “but I'm scared that if I don't go for it, I'll miss out. I'm also just as scared of failing and losing you. To the craziness. To my—to anything that I might do to fuck it up. It's not as if I've had a lot of dating success.”

Will watches the worry line Chris' face.

He wants to say a lot of things—about how Chris is too hard on himself. About how young he is. About how unique his situation has been. About how he's had shit luck meeting decent guys.

“There has always been something about you,” Will says, his eyes passing back and forth over Chris' face. “For me, that's enough. And if it turns out to be mutual, if it works—honey, that's all I'd need, and I'd be there through the crazy. It wouldn't matter to me.” It's weird, having this conversation before they even take their clothes off for the first time, but he knows Chris well enough to understand that there is a method to his madness. “You know how seriously I take that kind of commitment.”

“I do,” Chris says, exhaling unevenly. “I'm sorry. This is like, the most unattractive conversation that two people could have. It's like anti-sex.”

Will laughs. “I don't think that's possible. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Have you?” Chris counters, leering playfully.

“Alright, well, there you go, then.” He wets his lips and then tugs at Chris' shirt. “Come here.” Chris straddles his lap. He kisses Chris, soft and off-center. “I'll admit, I didn't expect this.”

“It's like as soon as I knew you were unattached, I couldn't think about anything else.” He exhales. “Do you think that's stupid?”

“I think you know what you want, and you go after it until you get it,” Will says, smiling.

“You're not a project.”

“Aw. Why not?” Will forces an exaggerated wink. “Don't you want to work on me, Colfer?”

Chris laughs. “See, I've led you to the sarcasm place. It's all over. From here on in it's just ab and cock size jokes. I know you, William.”

“I'm trying to make you laugh. Your face scrunches up all cute when you laugh. We can talk about my abs and cock size if you want to, though.”

It feels so right, the two of them touching, laughing, and kissing. The here and now is definitely promising, and thinking about the possibilities that lie ahead only excites Will. He could love this man. He could have a life with this man. It's the sort of thing that he's only felt briefly and shallowly once or twice in his life—with Chris, it's the real thing. It feels like a promise. 

He isn't sure why it's taken him this long to realize that he had only been wasting time with Sam.

Chris gets his attention back by kissing him. He kisses back hungrily, allowing his thoughts to dissolve in the simple, immediate reaction that his body is having to the kisses. Chris is in his lap, their bodies are rubbing subtly together, and every nerve that Will possesses is awake and snapping.

“God,” he breathes, arching his back, “this is—”

“—really good,” Chris finishes, digging his fingers through the hair at the nape of Will's neck. 

“Did you worry about that? Physical chemistry?”

“To be honest? Yeah. It's happened before.”

Will hums, licking into Chris' mouth and then back out again. “I think further tests are required.”

Chris laughs against his jaw. “You think?” His smile wavers. “Not too fast for you?”

“No,” Will replies, kissing Chris' cheek, the bridge of his nose, and the bow of his upper lip. “You?”

“No,” Chris says, smiling. “I just want—I want more than tonight. I want to try. If you do. We can take it easy—no commitment, no strings. See if it works for both of us.”

Will can't help but laugh at that. “Gotta say, it's already working pretty well for me.”

“I'm going to bust my funny bone on this coffee table,” Chris says. “Couch?”

“Couch it is.”

Quaking with nerves and excitement, Will lowers himself down on top of Chris, puts his knees and elbows where they need to go (at least his couch is wide enough for this) and looks at Chris, who is smiling up a him, pink-cheeked and visibly excited.

Chris laughs, trailing his fingers along Will's shoulders before wrapping them around the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss.

“Is this the weird part?” he asks, against Will's mouth.

“The only kind of weird I feel around you is the good kind,” Will answers, slotting his pelvis between Chris' thighs and letting their bodies come together. 

“You've got a line for everything, don't you?” Chris asks.

Will breaks the kiss so that he can dot a line of open-mouthed pecks down Chris' neck. Now that he's here, now that he's allowed to feel things for every inch of this man, he wants to enjoy himself. 

It's funny—Chris has a point about the awkward transition that occurs when a friend or a new acquaintance becomes a sexual partner, but Will isn't sure that that applies to them. He doesn't feel hesitant or out of place. He just feels comfortable.

He spends several minutes worshiping the sharp curve of Chris' jaw, and by the time that he reaches the faint dimple on the tip of his chin, their hips are rocking together and the temperature in the room has gone up significantly. Will's trying to figure out a way to get at those fucking glorious, flushed ears when Chris' hands slide down his back and cup his ass and his brain short-circuits.

“Shit,” he exhales, twitching. His dick is trapped against Chris' hip.

Urgency rushes down his spine as he recaptures Chris' mouth, pressing his tongue in and dragging it along the length of Chris' as their erections become impossible to reposition or ignore. He rolls his hips, shifts his knees, and inches down just far enough to get their bulges together. Chris makes a noise and begins to breathe heavily against Will's mouth and nose, his fingernails digging into the strip of skin that's exposed between the hem of Will's shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

Will isn't sure why he'd thought that they could just make out and call it a night.

This is _stupid_ good.

He isn't prepared for it when Chris whispers, raspy-sibilant and aroused and halfway between his head and chest voice, “What do you want?”

What he wants is to put those rock-hard, impossibly long legs over his shoulders and bury himself inside of Chris until they can't figure out where one of them ends and the other begins, but he isn't prepared for that and he isn't sure that his couch is either. He doesn't know if Chris would want that kind of intimacy so soon or what his general preferences are or what exactly he's looking for tonight.

But a handjob or a blowjob would feel like a shortcut, something that Will would do with a random to get off and then move on quickly. He wants to be closer to Chris than that.

“Shirts off?” he asks, breathless. 

Breathless becomes oxygen starved when Chris sits up and takes his shirt off. Beneath it he's smooth, near-hairless white-pink skin and beaded nipples and broad shoulders. Will kisses the prominent vein that begins near his collarbone and traces it all the way down to his bulging bicep.

_Christ on a cracker, this boy is sexy._

“You too,” Chris says, undoing the buttons on Will's flannel. 

When his hands flatten over the skin of Will's shoulders to push the material off, Will breathes out loudly through his nose. Chris' hands on him feel so good.

They're only kissing and grinding for a few minutes past that when Chris reaches between them to cup Will's dick through his jeans. Will empties his lungs into the curve of Chris' neck and thrusts into Chris' hand, hardly able to stop himself. It feels like his dick is two strokes away from busting through his zipper. Chris' fingers trace the shape of him, squeeze him, until he makes a noise.

“I could blow you,” Chris says, all at once.

The words come out unsure. Will can tell that he's used that line a dozen times, and isn't surprised. What could be a more efficient way to get off? What guy could turn down the offer of that mouth?

But all he can think is, _nah_. He isn't going to let Chris retreat like that, at least not tonight (he's sure that the offer comes from nerves and not desire), and especially not after the conversation they'd had.

He ruts against Chris' hand. “Or you could just stay right there,” he says, reaching down to pet Chris' trembling, concave belly. He tugs at Chris' fly. “Okay?”

Chris' eyelashes flutter. He lets out a pent-up breath. “Okay.”

He thinks that maybe he's unsettled Chris, but not in a full-stop sort of way.

He undoes Chris' fly and then his own, touching his fingers to Chris' hips as a warning before he shifts Chris' boxer-briefs and jeans down far enough to allow his cock to spring free. He does the same to himself, feeling that demanding desire for friction and more burn at the base of his spine. 

He wraps his hand around Chris' cock and strokes it up and straight.

“Hngh,” Chris moans, spreading his knees and arching up.

He repeats the motion on himself and then takes them both in hand, situating their shafts together between their bellies. He spits in his hand and gets them a little sticky before letting go, allowing their bodies to come together again.

“O-okay,” Chris says, his voice breaking as Will puts his arms on the couch beneath his head and shoulders and cradles him, holds him close and kisses him.

“You feel so good,” Will says against Chris' mouth, rocking his hips. He knows how good of a shape he's in, and that he could do this all night if he had to. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, sounding overwhelmed. “Y-yeah.”

Will brushes the hair off of Chris' forehead. The tension in Chris' face and the glaze over his eyes is new, so Will kisses him, lets him settle, lets him inch his jeans down around his calves when he begins to squirm to get closer. One application of spit and a few drops of pre-come isn't nearly enough to make their cocks rubbing up and down smooth—the friction is a lot, and he isn't sure how long they'll last. Chris begins to whimper and turn his face away long before Will does, though.

“Hey,” Will whispers, kissing Chris' ear. “It's okay, honey. You know that, right? I've got you.”

“Shit, I just, it's,” Chris pants. Will feels his ass come off of the couch, feels the needy snap of his pelvis, and the hot, hard brand of his dick.

“Gorgeous,” Will says, carding his fingers through Chris' hair. “Gonna come?”

“Kiss me,” Chris says, his voice trembling but demanding.

Will presses their mouths together. He's shaking so hard that he knows Chris can feel it. Chris is, too, but his trembling is the about-to-shoot kind, and when he squeaks out a gasp Will is prepared to feel the wet gush of come between their bellies. His dick twitches sympathetically.

There are two tracks of tears on Chris' face, streaked from the corner of his eyes back toward his hairline, and Will frowns and thumbs the wetness. “Chris?”

Chris makes a broken noise and kisses him, open-mouthed and rough. He wraps his hand around Will's bobbing erection, rubs it through the mess on his stomach and begins stroking it. 

“Come on me,” he whispers.

Will is too close to back down so he lets it happen, grunting under his breath when Chris' firm grip takes him exactly where he needs to go. The orgasm still takes him by surprise—it's deep and feels like it goes on forever—and Chris' lips trailing along his temple and jaw makes him tingle through it.

And then Chris' chest convulses beneath his, and those tear tracks go wet again.

“Hey, shh,” Will says, cupping Chris' cheek in his hand. “Shh.”

“Shit,” Chris hisses, burying his face in Will's shoulder. “Sorry. Fuck. Sorry.”

“Don't apologize.” He wraps his arms around Will's torso and holds on. “Shh, shh.” Will kisses his hair.

“I am so fucking lame,” Chris says, his tone nasally and a self-deprecating laugh at the back of his throat. “Shit. That was just really intense.”

Will reaches over to pluck a few tissues from the box that sits on the table beside the couch. He cleans them off as best as he can, giving Chris a second to calm down. He's not sure what he wants to say. He's surprised that with all the sex he knows Chris has had over the years, it's the events of this evening that have reached something previously untouched inside of him. But he supposes that it makes sense. When private interaction makes you afraid before it makes you happy, what kind of pleasure can you possibly derive from it? Most likely only the superficial kind.

“I'm taking that as a good thing,” he says, using a clean tissue to wipe Chris' face. “But, uh, I didn't do anything that you didn't like, did I?”

“It felt amazing,” Chris says, sniffling to clear his sinuses. “It was a lot, though. I don't usually—I don't go into it with feelings like that.”

Will smiles, one-sided and deep. “Yeah?”

Chris laughs and rolls his eyes. “I can practically see your ego right now.”

“You know that isn't true,” Will says, his smile softening.

Chris' face loses a little bit of its stiffness. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess not.”

They get back into their pants but Will tugs Chris into his arms before either of them bother to reach for their shirts. He flushes all over when Chris snuggles into his embrace, tucking his head up underneath Will's chin and closing his eyes. For a second there, Will had worried that he might decide to leave because it had been more than he'd bargained for.

“Are we okay?” he asks. “I mean, you still want to...”

He feels Chris' head bob affirmatively. “I do. But right now I need your manly shoulder to hide in because the CGI velociraptor is about to start eating baby dinosaurs. Okay?”

Will throws his head back and laughs. “I can change it.”

“No,” Chris says, smiling lopsidedly, “I like your manly shoulder.”

Will bites his lip. He can't stop smiling. “I'm glad. It's not going anywhere.”

“That's good to know,” Chris says, leaning up to kiss him.


End file.
